


The Formidable Foursome

by irishlullaby13



Series: Never Doubt I Love [4]
Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Domestic Witnesses, Gen, Post-Apocalypse Witnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-16 15:07:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8106934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishlullaby13/pseuds/irishlullaby13
Summary: A peek into the lives of the Mills-Crane Kids from "Never Doubt I Love"





	1. Grace Josephine Crane @ Age 9

**Author's Note:**

  * For [randihall3000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/randihall3000/gifts).



> Chapter Summary: She is beauty, she is Grace, she will smack you in the face.

Public school was harsh. No one knew this better than Grace Josephine Crane. Oh she did her best to make it sound like the greatest place on Earth to her little brothers and sister— _it has its very own library and lunch served up like a buffet_ , she had told them. It had been wondrous watching the way their little eyes would light up and they had acquired less trepidation about the idea of spending a bulk of their daytime hours with someone other than Daddy.

Although she was often viewed as the more dainty one of the four Crane children, she was very concerned about the well-being of her brothers and sister. And their starting school was no exception.

Irving had adjusted to the reality quite quickly. Then again, Irving was mutable and adjusted to situations easily. Like Mommy, he was good at reading people and like Daddy he had a magnetism that let him make friends a little too easily at times. He had quickly found himself a space with the peewee football team _and_ smart kids.

Grace had no doubts that, when the time came, Sophie would easily blend in with the weirdos and geeks when it came time for school. The one she truly worried over was John. John was... sensitive. He cried over everything. He had turned being a compulsive tattle-tale into an art form. He also liked to colour inside the lines and tried to make everything moderately realistic in shade—the only purple tree you would find in his colouring book would be a Chinese wisteria, if they ever had one. Maybe he would find a place as the teacher's pet, which would open him up to a lot of teasing. Or perhaps the artsy kids would welcome him—he did have quite the eye for that sort.

What she hadn't expected was her youngest brother eyeing her dance costume and begging to go to dance classes. Nothing had ever made Grace more elated than to welcome her brother into the loving embrace of the dance trope. No matter the age, the dancers all looked out for each other.

Sure Mommy had been a little hesitant, Daddy had been quite pleased.

_“My beloved,” Daddy had said. “You must admit John does have quite the taste for theatrics. This could very well be a gateway to work upon the stage on Broadway or perhaps even the West End...”_

_Mommy eyed Daddy for a minute, her eyebrow arched speculatively. “You do realize little boys in dance get teased mercilessly, right? It's all fine and dandy before he starts school... but...”_

_“I'll watch out for him,” Grace offered._

It had only been Grace's offer to watch out for him that had put their mother's mind at ease. And so far, no one had ever dared to tease him. The other moms at dance thought he was adorable. There was even another little boy in class that they helped each other out on form. The girls adored John as well and he was all of their honorary little brother—but Grace always reminded them that he was her _actual_ little brother.

It wasn't until they were at actual school that trouble arose. 

The girls at dance had been all too happy to share their sparkly pink nail polish with him the day before. John had refused Mommy's pleas to remove it before going to school. Which had led to one of the boys in Grace's class to start being incredibly rude and laughing at him while they waited for breakfast to be served.

“So is your little brother a—” the word that followed had made Grace's blood boil.

“ _What_ did you just call him?” Grace asked levelly, eyeing the boy coolly. 

“I called him a little—”

There it was. That feeling of her blood boiling again. “He has shown no discernible attraction to any particular gender, but he's only five so it's understandable. But I would thank you to not use such a vulgar word.”

Her other little brother Irving turned in his seat at the next table over. The boy that was being rude was taller than any of the three Crane children and from sturdy stock that gave him a very wall-like presence. He was one of the bad-apple bullies that would sometimes pop up at Sleepy Hollow Elementary. One of the ones that all the teachers knew picked on everyone but never did anything because 'his home life was bad.'

“My momma said there's a special place in hell for people that let their kids be—”

Grace pursed her lips. John tugged on her sleeve. “Gracie... what's a—” he asked softly.

Oh, now he had done it. He had made John use a naughty word. “It is an incredibly rude term that tiny people with tiny minds use to describe those who experience attraction to people that are the same gender as yours in order to make their tiny, insignificant existence feel like it has meaning,” she said, looking her class mate dead in the eye. 

John furrowed his brow in thought. “Oh, so like cousin Joey?” Grace nodded curtly. After a moment John shook his head. “Nope. I'm not one. Or... can I be one and still get married to Miss Tabitha when I'm a grown up?”

Miss Tabitha was one of the older girls that helped the little ones during dance.

“I don't have a tiny mind,” her classmate scoffed. “I just don't like the fact your little brother is wearing pink nail polish like a girl. My dad said the only boys that wear pink anything are—”

Grace sighed softly as she carefully picked up her breakfast tray, dumped its contents on the table as she stood, then smacked the boy across the face with it so hard he was knocked off of his seat. Every eye in the cafeteria turned toward her and the room fell silent. “No, you insufferable twit. The special place in hell is reserved for people like you and your parents that teach their snivelling, snotty nose children that it is okay to use such a word over something so trivial as wearing pink.

“My little brother is five years old and wearing sparkling pink polish because the girls at dance were painting their nails, he thought it was pretty and wanted his painted as well. No other reason. If you can't wrap your tiny little brain around the concept of doing something because you like it, the problem therein lies in you. Not in my little brother, nor does the issue lie in any thing that may or may not end up being a construct of who he is as an individual in the future. The problem is _you_. And if you use that word again and I hear of it, you can rest assured you shall learn the full extent of precisely how formidable of an opponent a _girly_ dancer can be.”

Within the space of five minutes, Grace found herself sitting in the office waiting for Daddy to show up. She had left John in Irving's care. The little snit that had been making fun of John had been sent to the nurse's station because the plastic tray had busted his lip and his mouth had been bleeding. There was a good chance he would not have any sort of ramifications for what he had been saying, but Grace felt justified in standing up to him anyway.

Grace knew when Daddy arrived, dressed in his full re-enactment uniform, things were about to go pear shaped one way or another. More so when she realized Sophie was in her own little Continental Army uniform—although, instead of a sword like Daddy would have had if they were not in a school zone, Sophie had a dinner fork in her scabbard and she had all the indicators of a ranking officer. She felt like crawling into a hole and dying of embarrassment when she remembered today had been 'Historical Play Day' at the Historical Society—children of the society members were re-enacting a battle from the revolution. That meant, no matter what she said, odds were favourable that Daddy would not even attempt to hear her side of the tale.

Or—as was her good fortune—he would be in full defensive mode and demand proper punishment for her classmate. Grace had done her best to keep from grinning like an idiot when she heard Daddy's raised voice on the other side of the principal's door.

He stayed in the office with the principal for ten whole minutes before the door was flung open. Daddy walked out, hands clasped behind his back, Sophie walking behind him, doing her best to emulate him. Daddy knelt down in front of her and took her hand in both of his. “Grace Josephine Crane...” he said gently. “After watching the footage and reading what he other children said about what happened, I feel you showed _far too much_ restraint. Never show patience with those who are undeserving of it.”

Grace looked around with uncertainty. “I'm not in trouble?”

Daddy smiled affectionately. “Let's just say... the principal owes your mother and I a debt which is not easily repaid. Your foe is being collected and will be dealt with accordingly within the hour.”

“Daddy said they better punish the other boy or there would be legal ra-ra-ram- _ramifications_ that would not end favourably for the school board,” Sophie said. 

“We shall talk more of this subject once your mother is home from work,” Daddy added. He gave her hand a kiss and smiled. 

Grace felt her heart fall into the pit of her stomach. _Uh-oh_. Her mom was very much opposed to fighting at school for any reason other than some weird monster had popped up (which then they were supposed to call Mommy and Daddy and they would show up to save everyone). Although, did it count as a fight if all she had done was smack the other boy in the face with a cafeteria tray?

“Although between you, myself, and your sister... you acted admirably,” Daddy added. “And I am certain your mother will feel the same.”

“You. Acted. Admirably,” Sophie echoed, with a bit more pomp to it. She pursed her lips. “What's 'ad'mably'?”

“It means she acted in a manner which should be admired,” Daddy replied, standing up to his full height. “If there is no objection, your sister and I would like to escort you to your classroom and return to our day at the Historical Society.”

Sophie pulled her fork from her scabbard and held it up like a sword. “I was about to lead the Continental Army into battle,” she boasted proudly.

Grace arched her eyebrows. “As Washington or Lee?”

“Washington!” Sophie beamed. “We were about to _u-til-ize_ stolen cannons.”

Daddy and Sophie escorted her down the semi-empty corridors—they passed the school nurse bringing her foe from earlier the way she had come from. The boy looked like he was going to say something but then took a glance at the tall and imposing form of Daddy and seemed to think better of it. Then his eyes dropped to tiny Sophie in her uniform. He snorted to repress a laugh as they passed.

Once they reached her classroom door, Daddy gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Sophie gave her a salute. When Grace entered the room, the other kids looked at her in awe. She held her head with pride and strode purposely to her seat, taking it with every ounce of elegance and grace her name implied. To say her status amongst her peers was forever elevated would have been an understatement. 

The only thing that kept her from getting completely wrapped up in her newfound popularity was the looming knowledge that she still had no idea what her mom would have to say about what happened.

  
#  


“So how was school today?” Mommy asked as she unwrapped the foil package sitting on her plate.

In celebration of a successful “Historical Play Day” Daddy and Sophie had cooked dinner in the firepit in the back yard. Dinner was a nice pork chop, cooked with asparagus, potatoes, carrots, pearl onions, and an array of spices, prepared in a foil pouch.

Grace felt her face warm. Irving pretended to take a long drink of soda. Sophie was stabbing her foil packet repeatedly with her fork trying to tear it open. John beamed happily and announced, “Gracie hit a boy in the face with her breakfast tray because he called me the 'f' word that the mean kids call Cousin Joey.”

Mommy's eyebrows arched and she slowly lowered her fork. “Grace Josephine Crane... You got in a fight and hit _another child in the face_ with your food tray?” Mommy asked carefully, with a hint of sternness in her voice.

Grace had been rolling this over in her head all day. She was ready. “I attempted enlightening the other child as to the rudeness of his comment toward my little brother. When that did not work I engaged in the rules of combat... I accessed the likelihood of my victory, pinpointed precisely how I could defeat my opponent, and executed my attack with complete certainty that said attack would prevent their ability to retaliate.”

Mommy was quiet as she chewed what was in her mouth in contemplation. She swallowed. “With a food tray? One of those hard plastic ones?” Grace nodded. A small half smile appeared on Mommy's lips. “Way to utilize your resources. I'm proud of you, Baby.”

“You're not mad?” Grace asked.

“Why would I be? That boy was calling your little brother a very rude thing, so he deserved it,” Mommy replied. “And in other news, water is wet. And this is an absolutely delicious dinner, Sophie.”

Sophie, her pork chop in its entirety on the end of her fork as she attempted capture a particularly dangly part of the chop in her mouth, put down her food and huffed in annoyance. “I wanted to not use spices because I wanted it to taste _au-then-tic_ to how Daddy had to eat it during the war. But he _in-sisted_ , since it's today and not back then, we should add flavour.”

“And I told you Sophie, whilst fighting in Valley For—” Everyone at the table groaned and Daddy looked affronted.

“Not Valley Forge, Babe,” Mommy said with a pained tone. “I mean, we don't mind the war stories but... something other than Valley Forge, once in a while, would be nice.”

Grace grinned when her parents started trading tiny, playful jabs at each other. The subject of her fight at school was now tucked away in Grace's mental catalogue of personal victories. Luckily there were precious few instances in her future that she had to have a repeat such a fight to defend her little brother... but each one of her opponents quickly learned that one did not _mess_ with Grace Josephine Crane's little brother.


	2. Irving Mills Crane @ Age 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irving Mills Crane shares more than one particular trait with the paternal side of his family.

Irving stopped and blinked to make sure he was seeing what he was seeing. He slowly backtracked to give his parents their privacy whilst they were snogging in the kitchen. 

“One day that is not going to work for stopping my ranting,” his dad scolded.

Irving peeked in and saw Dad was cradling Mom's head in his hands, his forehead resting against hers. Mom put her hands over Dad's and grinned wickedly. Irving quickly pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the scene. “The day it stops working will be the day I stop doing it,” Mom said, barely above a soft murmur, before giving Dad another kiss.

After a moment Dad pulled back and blinked. “Now, what was I talking about?”

“I don't remember.”

“Nor do I. I guess that means it was not important,” Dad said with a shrug.

Irving leaned against the wall right outside of the kitchen and pulled a small leather journal from his coat pocket along with a pen. He found the page he was taking notes on. _Eidetic memory. But her kiss can make him forget everything._

He tilted his head and tapped his chin with his pen. _She shines with the knowledge that she is the centre of his universe_. Irving felt like he was cheating a little with his creative writing project for the Writer's Club at school. But one of the first rules was to write what you know. The second rule was write what you don't know. He knew his parents. He didn't know what it was like to be in love.

So he was researching, doing a bit of character building. He warranted his characters would be the best—mostly because one didn't get to be vice president of the Sleepy Hollow Junior Writer's Club by accident or by just casually walking in off the streets. He was constantly preening with delight when the president of the club used his stuff as examples what everyone should try to do. Then again, his cousin was the president so maybe a little bit of favouritism was at play as well.

The club was ten members strong. Irving wished he could say he trying to excel for the sole purpose of having something to be proud of. Although, to be fair, he was. But the fact of the matter lie in that he had only joined the Junior Writer's Club because of _her_. He had seen _her_ when he and Joey had been strutting down the school corridors in their football jerseys.

Irving had walked straight into a wall when he had seen her. A wall he had passed numerous times a day so he knew darn well it was there. It had given Joey a good laugh, as well a couple of others that had witnessed it. _She_ had seen it and given him a sympathetic smile when he had looked around, hoping she hadn't seen when happened.

Serena Torres.

She was the sister to Joey's “sort of” boyfriend and was apparently a grade behind Irving in school. _“She's in the Junior Writer's Club,” Joey had offered._

The next step was to, of course, join said club. Three months and he had yet to approach her. There was a time or two where he almost had but then made up some kind of excuse as why he had walked over her way. And it hadn't been suave excuses like “I was wondering what book you are reading” or “Your eyes remind me of a cat's eye stone...” No, he had walked right up at her and quite loudly blurted “Your shirt is very pink” and, as was the case from last week's meeting, “I like your braid, it's very long and looks soft.”

It had been painfully awkward.

“What are you doing?”

Irving tilted his head back to look at Mom. “Nothing.”

Mom looked speculative. “Are you using me and your dad as characters again?” she asked. Irving felt his face start burning. “That's right, Joey told your Auntie and it got back to me. Come on...” She jerked her head back toward the kitchen.

“How did you know I was here?” Irving asked.

Mom arched a brow. “You're wearing your Dad's old coat that is two sizes too big for you. I could see the tails of the coat on the floor in the doorway. You can ask us things, you know... you don't have to lurk around corners, spying on us. Which, by the way, is a good way to see things I'm sure you don't want to see.” She started back toward the island to rejoin dad on preparing Sunday lunch. “By the way, why didn't you tell us you had joined Joey's little writing club?”

Irving hoisted himself off of the floor and found himself a seat across from his parents. “Well... see... I was trying to make these two characters that are in love but... I've never been in love so... I thought, by observing you two without you knowing someone was watching I could at least get an idea...”

Dad arched an eyebrow. “What I would like to know is why you have never spoken of an interest in writing endeavours... Such a scholarly activity is something to commended. We Crane's have always excelled at anything we put our mind to...”

“You're trying to impress a girl aren't you?” Mom interrupted.

“Oh God...” Irving groaned, folding his arms on the counter and hiding his face in them when Mom started cackling with delight.

“Pay up,” Mom grinned, nudging Dad in the side with her elbow. She held out her hand.

Dad smirked at Mom. “That is hardly appropriate to do in the kitchen whilst all of the children are here and when we are expecting company to arrive at any moment.”

“Fair point,” Mom replied with a gentle shrug. “So... who's the girl?”

“Serena Torres,” Irving replied with a heavy sigh.

“Micah's little sister?” Dad asked. 

“Who's Micah?” Mom asked when Irving nodded.

“Joey's _kinda_ boyfriend,” Dad offered

Mom's eyes lit up. “The one he's bringing to Sunday dinner?” she asked. She gasped. “Didn't Joey say Micah's sister was coming too?”

“What?” Irving yelped. “No... no, no, no...” 

“I do recall Miss Jenny making mention of it,” Dad commented. “Serena was meant to act as a chaperone whilst Micah stayed over with Joey.”

Irving covered his face with his hands. “I'm not eating lunch. I can't do this. I can't... I just can't...”

“Ordinarily I would say a Crane never runs from a challenge but... I must admit, when it comes to romance, Crane's are traditionally blundering idiots,” Dad said flatly. 

Mom snorted. “Biggest understatement in the history of mankind,” she teased. She jutted her thumb at Dad. “This idiot... spent three years spewing out soliloquies that sounded like wedding vows but then acted like I wasn't supposed to be getting caught up in my feelings with it. Then waits until I almost die to tell me how he feels.” 

“I told her I liked her braid because it was long and looked soft,” Irving said with a regretful sigh. “I can't seem to speak to her without just sounding like an idiot that missed all the critical classes on social interaction.”

Both his parents pulled a face.

Dad got a contemplative look on his face after a moment. “Perhaps, what you need is to play to your strengths. Joey mentioned that you are quite talented with the written word. Perhaps you should compose her a letter, telling her your feelings?”

“How did you tell Mom you loved her? As in what did you do and say?” Irving asked.

Both of his parents' eyes widened. 

“That tale is not exactly appropriate for children under the age of 30,” Mom said slowly. “But the general outline is... I almost died and when we got home, he told me how he felt about me. But, before me, I can honestly tell you... he wasn't joking about the blundering idiot thing. Girls made him so nervous his parents arranged his first engagement.”

“It helped that Mary found my shyness endearing,” Dad added. “But, I did discover that, when one finds the person which makes them feel complete, _eventually_ the words will come. Looking back, my only regret is that it took nearly losing your mother to find the words.”

Mom tilted her head and smiled. “Although I _do not_ recommend 'How dare you' as your opening line because that can actually start a fight.” His parents shared a secret glance then quickly focused on preparing lunch. “But Lord have mercy the person a Crane is in love with... because they are hopeless romantics. So don't be surprised if you get told you need to step it down a notch. I mean, just because you _can_ fill eight pages front and back everyday with your feelings, don't mean you _should_ write her eight page letters, front and back, every day for three months.”

Irving quickly made a few notes in his book. That could certainly explain the soft glow Mom seemed to have when her and Dad were talking amongst themselves. He wasn't one of those kids that was disgusted by his parents showing affection for one another, in fact, he found their affections to be quite inspirational.

But, for the time being, Irving had to figure out what exactly he wished to say to Serena and figure out how to say it without garnering a look that made him wonder if he had dribbled on his shirt.

  
#  


_Irving looked up as his dad peeked into his room. “May I have a moment, Irving?”_

_“Sure,” Irving said with a sigh._

_“Are you still in contemplation of how to tell Miss Serena of your affections?”_

_“Yeah...”_

_Dad sat on the corner of his bed. “If I make a suggestion...?”_

_Irving sat up. “Yes! Please... suggest away. I have no idea what to do... I don't want her to tell me to take it down a notch...”_

_Dad smirked. “Do you know what I did when your mother suggested I_ tone it down _?” Dad asked. Irving shook his head. “I started making my letters only upon the front side of the paper. And, to this day, your mother has a hand written letter waiting for her when she awakens in the morning. Although, she gave me a very strict limit of two pages, double spaced, in large writing, front side only I manage to tell her just how completely in love with her I am every day.”_

_“So... you're saying write her a letter?” Irving asked. “And if it's too much take it down to a level she's comfortable at?”_

_“Precisely. And, if she does not return your affections, do remember that she is under no obligation to do so. You must be a gentleman and apologize for the likelihood that you have caused her any feelings of discomfort whilst you garnered courage to tell her how you felt,” Dad said._

_Irving nodded. “Of course.”_

That had lead Irving to pouring his heart out over three pages. He probably would have done more if he hadn't heard the doorbell chime, indicating the lunch guests had started arriving. After quickly wrapping up his letter, he neatly folded it and used the wax seal set his dad had let him borrow to secure it closed.

With trepidation, he crept down the stairs. He let out a sigh of relief when he heard the voices of the Foster-Reynolds twins mixed with that of his Mom's boss and her fellow FBI agent. “Oh come on Soph, everyone knows the Daddy is Danny,” he heard his mom laughing. “Y'all just need to go ahead, get married, and let the folks at work cash in on the betting pool.”

Irving debated the idea of going back to his room and adding onto his letter but the doorbell chimed again. Taking a deep breath, he bound down the remaining steps and barely beat Grace to the door. He stuck his tongue out at his older sister. Her eyes fell to the letter clasped in his hand then snatched it from him.

“Ohh, what's this? Who's Serena?” she asked after turning it over to see where he had scrawled his love's name. She held the letter out of his reach when he tried to grab it back from her. “Irving wrote his little girlfriend a love letter!!” she shouted and dashed toward the kitchen with the rest of the family and the guests.

He wanted to chase after her but there were two very distinct issues. One, Mom would definitely be upset at them for running in the house. Two, the door would remain unanswered. Irving sighed and pulled the door open. 

His cousin Joey, tall and imposing in his own rite for a boy his age, had his elbow—propping himself up lazily—upon the shoulder of Micah who was equally tall but built perfectly like the linebacker he was for the junior varsity football team. Irving had only ever seen Joey's dad in pictures but looked almost exactly like him except Joey had Auntie Jen's dark eyes. Micah was handsome as well and had plenty of girls at school fawning over him—not that he particularly gave a damn since he was, you know, gay—Irving thought he looked a bit like slightly darker skinned, teenage, Vin Diesel.

“What up, Loser,” Joey greeted with a grin.

Micah pulled a face and shook his head. “Don't...” he said lightly.

“Sorry,” Joey said bashfully, ducking his head as he shifted so he was no longer leaning on Micah's shoulder.

“Dork,” Micah said, shaking his head. He bowed in an overly grandiose fashion. “I have come to seek the approval of Young Joey Corbin's family so that he and I may tell any would-be suitors to bug off.”

Joey looked over at Micah and shook his head. “Don't...”

The two teenagers went into a fit of giggles and gave each other playful shoves. They both ruffled Irving's hair and let themselves in. Irving looked out the door. Auntie Jenny was loading a few things into the arms of her husband, Ash, but Micah's sister was nowhere to be seen. He felt his heart plummet into his stomach.

“Your sister didn't come?” Irving asked, looking at Micah. 

“Nah.” Micah shrugged indifferently then shot Joey a sneaky glance. “Why? Was she supposed to?”

It had never occurred to Irving that his parents had been messing with him. Although it left him feeling rather relieved, he couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed that she was not going to be in attendance.

Auntie Jenny made it to the door. “Hey squirt,” she said. “Why do you look like someone just ran over your dog and spit in your face?”

Grace returned from the kitchen and handed the letter over to Irving. “Mom said I had better give this back to you or there would be consequences which involved physical contact and me losing half of my racial identity.”

Irving fidgeted nervously when Micah eyed him with amusement. It wasn't until the guests were leaving that Irving got up the courage to pull Micah to the side and give him the letter. “Would you please give this to Serena?”

Micah eyed the letter for a moment before taking it. “Of course I will. But I can't make any promises I won't read it before hand to make sure there's nothing naughty in it.”

It was the best Irving could hope for. Although he knew he would probably not know her response until the club meeting on Monday afternoon.

  
#  


Irving had tried to contain himself throughout the school day, until it was time for the club meeting. He normally arrived early in order to establish his “nest” for during the meeting. Much to his surprise, the object of his affection was already in the little meeting room. She had his letter in her hands but neither said nor did anything aside from give him a shy “hi” when he came in.

He felt his face warm and quickly made his way to his favourite seat to quietly set out the things he would need for the meeting—bottle of water, his notebook, a couple pens of various colours, and some highlighters. Once he had everything sat the way he liked, he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder.

When he looked up, Serena was looking down at him with a shy smile. “Is it okay if I sit next to you?” she asked quietly.

Irving gapped for a moment before swallowing hard and nodding. He quickly stood and pulled the chair out for her. Once she was seated, he gently rolled the chair up to the table then reclaimed his own seat.

He was a bundle of nerves until she gently tucked both her arms around one of his and rested her cheek on his shoulder. From that moment on there was no stopping his grinning like a jackass. For the first time ever, Irving felt completely at ease in her presence. He felt like he could easily talk her ear off if she let him. “So... how has your week been, Miss Serena?”

She shrugged slightly. “It was okay. But this week is already starting to look exceptionally delightful.”

Irving couldn't help but agree.


	3. John Benjamin @ Age 16

“Come back you weasely little shit!” 

John stopped and turned away from the window he was fully prepared to jump out of. Come to think of it, in the long run, going back toward the person was the safer way. Even if they had two other bulky, towering friends just as prepared and willing to beat his ass. He made a quick assessment of what he had available.

Prop chair that the school would be highly annoyed about getting broken. A few Rapunzel wigs. Various drapey wizards robes. Ah, yes, a nice, sturdy mop.

“Whatever you're thinking John, don't do it.”

John looked at his leading lady. She was the only thing standing between him and the three guys that had just interrupted their romantic interlude—erm... _rehearsal for the play_ they were leading in two weeks time. Was he one to argue when she had clearly chosen him over the towering moron that had called him a weasely little shit? I mean, who could blame her? He was handsome and dashing, his opponent was an insufferable knucklehead that wouldn't know how to treat a lady properly if they printed, laminated, and handed out an easy “how-to” guide that used only very simple words.

He could only imagine what such a pigheaded brute would do to the lovely maiden John had been caught kissing in a dark corner of the theatre department storage. He could already hear his dad's voice in the back of his head saying, _if ever there is a lady in distress, never hesitate to defend her or her honour_. Although, at the same time he could see his mom rolling her eyes and grumbling, _if she can't defend herself even a little he has no business messing with her_.

“John... I can handle this, just go,” she said firmly, determination in her eyes.

“Oh, my dear Peaches,” John sighed. “If it were a fair fight, I would most certainly let you handle it. But it would be three against one.” A little smile appeared on her lips. “As a gentleman I would like to offer my services to the lady and make certain these menaces respect her wishes to leave her alone.”

“They will snap your skinny ass like a twig, John,” Peaches replied. 

Peaches was only her nickname, she was called such because she was from Georgia and when she had first moved to Sleepy Hollow the year before, all she could do was talk about how inferior the peaches available in New York were. A few weeks later, she brought several boxes of 'real' peaches to school, from her granddaddy's peach grove in Georgia.

“Small price to pay to defend my lady's honour,” John said with a sweeping bow. He then took her hand and kissed it. 

“For what it's worth, I'd only have to handle Bryce,” Peaches said flatly.

“And the others would make no move to defend you against him which means they are just problematic as Bryce,” John pointed out. “And a lady should never have to _handle_ her boyfriend.”

“Ex-boyfriend,” she replied with a grin.

“We doing this or not, Crane?” Bryce barked.

John clasped his hands behind his back and walked over to his opponent. “Oh we are doing this, sir. But first allow me to offer you the chance to walk away with the dignity of yourself and your cohorts still intact. The lady has obviously declined to continue to return your affections. So fighting it out would only prove to be a fruitless endeavour.”

Bryce looked at his two friends questioningly. “What?”

“Do I need to use simpler words?” John asked curiously.

It was then that Bryce took his first swing and John. Within minutes, Bryce and his two friends were on the floor. John was mostly unharmed except for a busted lip where one of the cohorts had headbutted him. John took a calming breath. “Do you yield?”

Bryce looked up at him, confused. “Take the bitch, I don't—”

John gave the young man one last strike across the face with the mop handle. “You will apologize for using such a term when concerning Miss Peaches or any lady.”

He realized his opponent was not able to speak at the moment because he was doubled over sobbing. John threw down the mop—or rather the handle since the mop end had gotten broken off at some point in the fight. He turned back toward Peaches and held out his hand.

“Shall we?” he asked. 

She grinned and bounced over to wrap herself around his arm. “Yes! Oh God, yes! How did you do that? They are like twice your size. I mean, yeah you're tall but Bryce and his buddies are on the wresting team...”

John gave her a sneaky smile meant only for the two of them. “I took dance and gymnastics until I was twelve. It made me rather light on my feet. Myself, my sisters, and my mother do yoga every morning... Also, my mother works for the FBI. So, if there is one thing she made certain of, its that her children know how to defend themselves. I also have a younger sister who is fairly scrappy.”

Peaches looked at him and shook her head. “You are going to be the father of my children someday. Not any time soon, of course, because you know I want to finish school and break out onto Broadway... But someday.”

“I'd have to get approval from your family first and you mine,” John said. 

“We've only been dating a couple of hours John,” she said softly. “It's a bit early for all that isn't it?”

They stepped around Bryce and his two friends and made their way out of the storage room. “The sooner we are certain we are good fits within each other's families, the better. Although I warn you, I have two elder siblings, a younger one, my parents, my auntie, my uncle, and two cousins, my cousin's fiancé and my brother's girlfriend that you would have to meet.”

Peaches blinked. “Oh, wow. I'm an only child. And it's just me and my mom that are in the area. My grandparents live in Georgia. And I think my auntie and a cousin are in Los Angeles. I don't really care what my auntie and cousin think but... I would like to see if my mom and grandparents like you. They'll be visiting in a couple of weeks for Thanksgiving.”

John thought a long moment. Ordinarily on Thanksgiving Dad would have just a bit too much rum after lunch and go on hours long rants about how the turkey had almost been the national bird because of Benjamin Franklin and how the treatment of the native people was a travesty.

Perhaps it was best to meet her family on Thanksgiving and his at Christmas. The worst they had to endure at Christmas was hours of war stories and Dad's homemade eggnog.

“That sounds perfect. And all of my family should be in town for Christmas.”

Peaches grinned brightly. “Works for me. Although... All I ask is no dramatic eyeliner. My granddaddy is a bit old fashioned on that front and I'd like for him to get to know you before he gets to—” she waved her hand to indicate John's entire self “—know _you_. I mean, just a little on the bottom should be fine but no wing tips, babe. My mom would be okay with it but I don't think my grandparents would quite understand and I don't want them to say anything hurtful to you.”

“Certainly, my love, I am well aware that I can be a bit much for people,” John said, then gave her a kiss on the cheek.

Of course when they tried to question him about the beating Bryce and his buddies had suffered, the principal took one look at John—with his normal attire that was somewhat reminiscent of what his father used to wear many many years ago, painted nails, and winged eyeliner—then suspended the other three because he thought they didn't want to admit they had been fighting amongst themselves. It also didn't hurt that Peaches said she had accidentally elbowed John in the face while they were rehearsing for their play to explain John's busted lip.

  
#  


_Christmas_...

Meeting Peaches' family had gone surprisingly well. Gramps didn't much care for John—but then again, apparently, the only person Gramps remotely liked was Gramma. Since Gramma had thought John was 'so handsome and polite and such a nice gentleman that you just didn't see any more,' John had gotten Gramps' seal of approval. Peaches' mom had just happy he wasn't Bryce.

All that was left was John's family. He was fairly certain 98% of the family would approve of her. Peaches was a lovely southern belle who knew how to charm the knickers off a person when she needed to. There was but on person John was concerned about.

Grace.

Grace had been his silent guardian since he was little. She was a gentle soul for the most part but she turned into a force to be reckoned with if she thought someone was poking fun at him. She had even jumped Sophie once a few years back because she had called his nail polish 'girly.' Grace hadn't won that particular fight because, well, Sophie knew how to use her shorter stature as an advantage against a taller person... and she had also taken up kick-boxing so Grace really hadn't had a chance.

John had borrowed his mom's old suv to go pick up Peaches from her house. She was certainly a vision to behold. Her lime green frock made her dark skin glow—the fact she had even adhered to the Crane family tradition of wearing something from the revolutionary era for Christmas had made the little hearts already floating around his head multiply. She had gone with a simple gown with petticoats rather than the full corseted style. Her dark curls were pinned up with sparkling butterfly clips and spiralled elegantly to her shoulders.

Yes, he decided right then and there, even if Grace did not approve, he was going to make absolutely certain Peaches was his bride in the future.

As he had expected, everyone in the family loved her—Dad had been quite delighted at the basket of peaches she had brought as a Christmas gift and immediately dashed to the kitchen to use some of them to start a cobbler for once dinner was done. But Grace was still the only question mark. And judging by the scowl on her face, she had some strong feelings about Peaches.

Mom had been positively chatty as she had loved the play that John and Peaches had starred in the month before. “I was sitting with one of my friends from Juilliard and she just kept going on about how beautiful your singing was,” Mom said. “She had come because I was trying to see about the chances of getting John a scholarship but, she was positively delighted with you.”

It wasn't until later that he saw Grace and Peaches talking with each other that a feeling of dread washed over him. Both of them were scowling when the other talked. Finally Grace leaned in and whispered something to Peaches which made her laugh, shake her head, and grin as she gave a pleased response.

After that, Grace nodded and headed his way. She popped a peppermint into her mouth. “I like her. Never let her go,” was all Grace said before meandering on by. When John looked toward Peaches, she looked like she was about to be sick to her stomach so he rushed over to her. 

“Is everything all right?” he asked carefully, guiding her to the sofa to take a seat.

Peaches nodded. “Oh, yeah... it's fine. You weren't kidding about your oldest sister being protective of you. She just informed me that if I ever hurt you that she would gut me like a fish and knew how to dispose of my body in ways that it would never be found.”

That was pretty much the highest compliment Grace could have paid. John's last two girlfriends had simply been told to go away and never speak to him again.

“So I told her plain and simple... _Sweetheart_ , I'm from Decatur, Georgia. If you want to make a threat like that you better hope your skinny little ass is prepared to cash that check,” Peaches said, laying on her sweetest southern drawl as she stroked the hair at her shoulders.

John took Peaches' hand and kissed it. “No wonder she said she liked you.”


	4. Sophie Grace Crane @ Age 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard being the family disappointment.

_Freeze, FBI, you're all under arrest!_

Sophie closed her eyes and swore under her breath as she put her hands in the air. Damn... of all the voices to hear on the night of her big fight, her mom's was the last one she had wanted to hear. Seconds later a bright light was shining in her face then lowered. _Double damn_. Of course the face looking back at her looked almost exactly like her own, except older with grey streaked curls.

“Sophie?” Mom asked, her voice pitching with both surprise and disappointment.

Sophie smiled nervously and wriggled her fingers. “Hi Mom.”

  
#  


If one could have taken all the undesirable traits Mr. and Mrs. Crane felt the other had and mixed them together, the results would undoubtedly be Sophie Grace Crane. Despite having a few “attitude problems” she had managed to graduate school three years early because it was decided she would be better suited to home schooling. However, since then, she had shown zero interest in anything that was more strenuous than pulling herself up off the sofa to go to the bathroom a couple times a day.

She was notoriously known as the Crane that “gives zero fucks” about anything. At seventeen, while the family was on a trip to Egypt, her girlfriend had sent her a text ending their relationship. Sophie had responded with a selfie of her at the edge of the desert with the caption “Behold, the field in which I grow my fucks” and quickly found herself moving on to a rebound with the tour guide's son, Ahmed, that lasted the remaining three days of the trip.

Once or twice she had dabbled with the idea of college, going as far as enrolling for online classes but then decided it was ten times more fun to break into an old warehouse with her friends from the local pool hall, which was the only thing she ever really did outside of the house. It had actually gotten so bad at one point her father had placed a full sized trash can next to the sofa (where she usually fell asleep gaming) with a sign that read “trash goes here not on the floor and sofa” taped to the edge of it. Yet she kept what her mother had dubbed 'a nest' in place.

The underground fighting had all started fairly simply. She was in the right place at the right time and kicked the right ass. Next she knew Uncle Danny—although he wasn't actually her uncle, apparently he dated her mom ages ago but they retained a good and functional friendship—had pulled her aside when she had stopped by to pester her mom at work.

_“I have a source that said you dropped the bodyguard of someone we've been keeping an eye on. And my source says that person is interested in finding out who you are and giving you a job. What I want to do is offer you a job undercover.”_

_Sophie had snorted and laughed. “Um, you sure you want to entrust something like that to me, of all people, Uncle Danny? I mean... you do realize I'm like... the family disappointment right?”_

_“You're not a disappointment, Sophie,” Uncle Danny said. “They're just concerned about you is all. They know you're a very intelligent young woman capable of doing whatever you put your mind to. But, they also wish you would hurry and find something you want to put your mind to. So, what do you say? I have contacts that would make it their job to keep you safe. They wouldn't want to disappoint me but they sure as hell wouldn't want to face your mother's wrath if anything happened to you.”_

And for the past six months, Sophie had fought her way to the top. Literally. She remembered, on her first day, pacing restlessly in a nondescript room with cement blocks for walls with maybe 40 people of various races and body build. There had only been one girl in the room and she had been it. She had made a muscular Latino guy with prison tattoos nervous with her pacing.

_“In my day,” she could hear Dad quietly saying to Mom. They thought she had fallen asleep on the sofa but, in reality, she had just been meditating in order to keep herself from having to get up to pee. “The parents would have thrown a lavish party and invited all the young, available gentlemen in hopes of marrying her off a rich, young bachelor. Or perhaps send her off to a nunnery.”_

_“Hmm. Trying to figure out if I would rather have a son-in-law or to see kick boxing nuns,” Mom commented. “Or a daughter-in-law. There might be a cute rich lesbian or bi girl her age looking for a wife... At this point I don't really care. I just know she can do better than this. It's like having you as a house mate all over again. Except all she does is sleep on the sofa and eat all our food.”_

She wished she could say it had made her angry but she sort of stayed in a perpetual state of anger. No, what she had felt was disappointment. Disappointment in herself, mostly. She could remember being little and Dad showing her off with pride at events at the Historical Society. She remembered how he used call her The Little General because she was constantly bossing people around and commanding all the attention in a room. How she never complained even when Daddy tried his best to give her bantu knots because she asked for them and was willing to endure the process until he got frustrated and took her to Aunt Jenny—who also got frustrated with it and gave Dad the number to a place that could work her in.

And although she had been in a couple of relationships, she had come to the conclusion that while she liked the _idea_ of a romantic relationship, she didn't much see herself being _in one_. Ever.

_“She needs an activity to help her take out some of her aggressive behaviour,” almost all her teachers had said until her parents decided to do home school with her. This was despite the fact they knew she was in karate. So Mom had enrolled her in kick-boxing instead. Sophie had loved it, obviously. Her karate classes had been more about learning self-control and all that other good stuff. With the kick-boxing she was free to just let loose._

_The result was a five foot tall ball of blood, sweat, and fury that 'small and angry' didn't even begin to describe._

Uncle Danny's offer had been her way to prove to her parents she wasn't a fuck up. That she could do something important.

The first step in going underground had been to build herself a reputation. Yeah, the person they were trying to get to had noticed her. But she had to continue to draw their attention. So, while in the nondescript room, she focused in on the tattooed guy and planted the heel of her boot in the side of his face.

That had quickly started an all out brawl that eliminated most of her competition and left only herself and six others standing by time they came to fetch them for the first round. They were only the first room full of competitors.

_“What the hell happened in here?” the bouncer asked. The others that were still standing looked in her direction._

_Sophie nodded toward the tattooed guy. “He told me I'd be prettier if I smiled. I decided he looked prettier with my boot in his mouth.”_

_“What do you call yourself, pretty lady?” the bouncer asked as she wrapped her hands and wrists just minutes before her first official fight._

_A small smile cracked her lips. “My Daddy used to call me his Little General,” she replied dryly._

That had all lead up to the fateful night of the finals. She had built her reputation and held it well. She was known for her ruthlessness in the ring, tearing down people twice and three times her size and reducing them to a bloody mess on the ground.

Little did she know—as she had two handfuls of white boy dreadlocks, smashing its wearer's face into a wall—her mom and her team were getting ready to bust a major criminal fighting ring. That was how Sophie learned that sometimes the FBI would carry on two or more investigations that interact with each other and sometimes one or more of those teams would know absolutely nothing about the other investigations that were taking place.

Sophie's opponent slapped the wall three times. She let him go and took a step back. “Let me catch your cultural appropriating ass wearing dreads again,” she huffed, wiping sweat off of her forehead. When he clamoured over to sitting, she made like she was going to jump him again.

“I won't! I won't! I swear!” he wailed, covered his face with his arms defensively. “I will cut them off before I leave.”

Sophie kicked some of the dirt on the floor in his direction. “You better.”

She was declared the winner of the round, but instead of calling her The Little General as they had been for the last six months, they dropped the 'Little'. There was a small part of her that took the change with pride, even if she couldn't declare it to her parents. Sure they had noticed her leaving the house a couple nights a week, had even asked her about it.

All she had ever said was “Going out.” If she got injured in a way that couldn't be easily covered, she'd crash at a friend's house for a few days. And by friend she meant Micah and Joey's house. They never asked questions, just nodded when she asked them to not say anything to anybody. Although more than once Joey had demanded her vow that she had _not_ gotten into an abusive relationship and just didn't want the asshole—or bitch, Micah had added—to suffer the consequences.

After two more rounds, Sophie was declared as being one of two people left. Her next and final opponent was—her heart leapt into her throat when she looked into dark eyes that often peered at her from across the dinner table on Sunday's. The surprise that registered on Joey's face was priceless.

Sophie mentally swore numerous times. She knew for a fact he was there because of the FBI, although it wasn't until a short while later she would find out Joey had been working a case completely separate from the one Uncle Danny had put her on.

“Should have known it would be you,” he sighed and shook his head. “The stage name should have been the blaring clue.”

“I'm not going to go easy on you,” Sophie commented.

“You won't have to go easy on me,” Joey replied. “I'm part _windego_ , remember? Feel free to let loose.”

Sophie arched a brow wondering why the hell he had emphasized 'windego'. She found out as soon as Mom and her team busted in, guns drawn and lights glaring. And now, Sophie was sitting in an interrogation room, her mother pacing back and forth, hands on hips. “What the hell? _What the hell_?” Mom asked repeatedly but Sophie knew from her tone it was not the kind of question that was meant to be answered. She stopped and turned to look at Sophie with a look of confusion and betrayal. “Is this what you've been doing? Is this where you've been going?”

Sophie looked down at her hands. Was she supposed to tell her mom that Uncle Danny had signed her on to the case? Or was she supposed to let her mom, who was already disappointed in her, be so disappointed that there was no possible way to return to her good graces.

“Yeah,” Sophie admitted quietly.

“An illegal crime fighting ring, Sophie. You mean to tell me you are in an _illegal crime fighting ring_?” Mom shrieked, throwing her hands into the air. She stormed across the room and stood near the corner, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you are in?” She dropped her hand and looked at Sophie. “Do you realize there will be jail time, Sophie? _Prison_ time. Do you have any idea just how bad this is?”

Sophie could feel tears stinging the back of her eyes as she shook her head.

Mom suddenly looked relieved. “Okay, good... good. You have no idea what you were getting into. Maybe, just _maybe_ we can work something out. Names... names... do you have the name of the person that got you into this whole deal?”

Sophie scoffed with amusement. “Look, Mom, all I know is that I got in a scrap with someone's bodyguard and kicked their ass. Next I know I was approached and asked if I wanted to go to a place I could really throw down. I didn't realize it was some kind of criminal ring.”

“So no names?” Mom hung her head and sighed. 

“Daniel,” Sophie offered. “That's the guy that got me into it.”

“Okay... okay that's a start,” Mom said quietly. “Do you have a last name? Description? Did he say who he was representing? Anything, Sophie. Anything we can use to help get you out of this...”

The door to the interrogation room opened and Uncle Danny walked in with a folder in his hands. “Last name is Reynolds. I'd say he's about six foot tall, mid-to-late fifties, maybe even in his sixties, hard to tell because he's just so damn handsome for a man his age. And I heard he represents the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

Mom slowly closed her eyes and slowly turned her head toward Uncle Danny. “You. Put. My. Baby. Daughter. Into. An. FBI. Investigation? And didn't tell me?” Mom said through clinched teeth.

“You know I couldn't tell you about certain parts of the case as a whole,” Uncle Danny said. He looked at Sophie and gave her a crooked smile. “You did great Sophie.” He handed the folder he was holding to Mom. “A lot of the information we gave you for your part of the case, it came from Sophie. Take a look for yourself if you don't believe me, but there's plenty of people going to prison because of her.”

Mom scowled and snatched the folder from Uncle Danny. She pulled out the chair across the table from Sophie and plopped down. After about ten minutes, Mom closed the folder, stood, turned toward Uncle Danny and jabbed him in the chest. “You put my child at risk of getting arrested, Danny. Hell, I _did_ arrest her. I had to arrest my own child, Danny. She could have gotten killed. She could've have gotten hurt. She is not trained for this like Joey is.”

Uncle Danny held his hands up in surrender. “She could have, I know that. But I also knew one more thing...” Mom put her hands on her hips. “I know you've been teaching your kids everything you've learned through the FBI since they could walk. Sophie may not be FBI, but she's had all the training. I knew that if she was anything like her mom, she'd be fine. And, if she interested, I could probably pull a few strings and get her a spot at Quantico's next training session.” He looked at Sophie. “If you want it that is. Your mom's getting ready to retire in a few years...”

“I ain't nowhere near old enough to retire,” Mom grumbled, folding her arms over her chest. “You will have to pry my badge from my cold dead fingers.”

Sophie blinked at Uncle Danny. “Don't I have to have like... credentials and experience and... like... college?” The prospect of all the law classes she would have to take made her feel nauseous. When she thought about herself in college, she always imagined... not that.

“Like I said... I can pull some strings,” Uncle Danny replied. “If you make it through the training... we can post you here. Probably in charge of your own team within a year or two...”

Mom looked at her, eyes wide with excitement. Sophie could tell Mom wanted to burst with delight. The only time she ever saw Mom's eyes shine like that was when Dad gave her a kiss or when they were engaged in a game of chess. Mom was excited by the prospect of one of her babies following in her footsteps—it wasn't enough that Grace's husband worked for the FBI or that Irving was working at the sheriff's department, with plans to _maybe_ join the FBI, apparently.

It was in that moment it dawned on Sophie that she knew exactly what she wanted to do. It was weird how doing a brief operation had made her realize it...

But first... there were a couple things she had to do.

  
#  


Sophie pursed her lips as she checked her reflection, making sure her work clothes were perfect and pristine. She clipped on her badge that identified her as an intern then made her way up the steps, letter in hand that proved she was, in fact, sent here as an intern.

She pushed open the massive wooden doors and inhaled the scent of old leather and parchment. Her dad was standing in the middle of the Archives, staring at the large, round window as though he had forgotten why he had walked there in the first place. Which, sadly, was entirely possible these days. He turned and blinked at her, peering over tiny specs which had slid down his nose.

He looked her over. “Sophie,” he said with uncertainty. “What are you doing here?”

She strode up to him purposefully and presented him with the letter. Dad arched a brow as he unfolded it, pushed his specs back into place, and read the words. “Professor Crane, The Hudson Valley Historical Society would be very appreciative if you would accept the internship of Ms. Sophie Grace Crane for the position of chief archivist. HVHS apologizes for taking so long to find an intern, we wanted to make certain we provided you with the perfect candidate. We are certain you will find Ms. Crane to be quite intuitive and eager to learn the tasks which will be required of her when you decide to retire. Sincerely, Mrs. Serena Torres-Crane. President, Hudson Valley Historical Society.” He lowered the letter and whispered softly to himself for a moment.

“Irving's wife,” Sophie offered.

Dad nodded and folded the letter up. “Oh, yes... of course... of course. I knew that. I... I... knew... that.” He looked her over again. “Why are you wearing that?”

Sophie took a step back and gave a small twirl. “It was part of the job description. Must be willing to wear period costume during business hours.”

“That's only on Tuesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays for tour days,” Dad pointed out. “Although I do wish to warn you, you will be required to meet certain educational requi—”

“Can't get the internship without being a student, Dad,” Sophie interrupted. “Barely made it, but I'm registered and taking online classes with NYU and one night a week I have to go take one of my classes at the campus.” He made to speak again but she quickly added, “And I've already looked into masters degree programs in History with a specialization in the American Revolution. I'm taking as many classes as they're allowing me at one time in hopes I can finish before you retire.”

He smiled politely and nodded. “And?”

“I love you Daddy,” she added sweetly then glomped him in a bear hug, squeezing him nowhere near as hard as she could because he was getting to be an old man and she didn't want to break him. Mom would definitely be pissed if she broke Dad.

After a moment Dad returned the hug and rested his chin atop her head. He lightly stroked her hair before he sighed heavily. He pulled back and held her at arm's length. “My lovely Little General...” he kissed her forehead then offered her his arm. “I suppose, since this is your first day, it is customary for you to receive a guided tour of the places you will be expected to go during normal operations. And give you a small _run down_ the history of the building and the munition tunnels.”

Sophie slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Of course. Although... the first mention of throwing a lavish ball to marry me off, there _will_ be a fight.” 

Dad looked down at her then looked away sheepishly. “Your mother and I were concerned is all. We're not going to be around forever. Every second we've survived past the end of the last tribulation had been a treasured gift. We only wished to make certain you could survive without us.”

Sophie rested her cheek on his arm as they walked along, huddling closer to him. “I'll be fine. I promise. I don't need anyone to take care of me.”

Dad nodded lightly with understanding. He was quiet a moment before he took a deep breath and held himself with confidence. “Publicly this structure is known as The Archives...” he said, making an eloquent sweeping gesture with his free arm.

Sophie knew the speech by heart. She had been hearing it since she was little. But, just this once, she was going to give her Dad her full attention and maybe actually learn something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Part Three of the Series: "A Heart to Love"


End file.
